“You promise?”

He bent to kiss her nose. His eyes crinkled with pleasure. “Yep.”

“I’m going to hold you to it.”

He grin widened. “I’m counting on it.” Then he released her and went to the pilothouse, returning with a folding table in his arms. “Tonight, we’ll have to settle for local shrimp that’s already been caught, headed, peeled, and cooked.”

“I’ll have you know that I know how to peel shrimp,” she said in mock defense. “Lucille taught me when I was little. She always made us girls peel. With those red plastic-knife things. I’m pretty fast. Though I never took the heads off.”

Taylor showed her a flicking motion with his thumbs and forefingers. “It’s easy. You just twist the heads off, like this.”

Harper grimaced. “I’ll skip that part, thank you very much.”

“Novice.”

“Stubborn,” she corrected.

She smiled at the banter as she took the blue-and-white-checked tablecloth from the basket and spread it over the table. “You have no idea how rare it is where I come from to even know where shrimp come from, much less how to peel a shrimp. We buy them all cleaned and wrapped up in paper at the grocery store or fish market.”

“Imported shrimp, probably.” He scowled.

“Probably.” She laid out the napkins and tableware. “I know the difference. What’s that saying? ‘Friends don’t let friends eat imported shrimp’?”

He was impressed she knew that expression, smiling with approval. “Right.”

Harper opened up thick wedges of cheese; he uncorked a bottle of chilled white wine. The sunset brought a change in temperature that chased off the heat of the day. A sudden breeze ruffled the tablecloth, and Harper lurched for the heavy plastic cups, just catching them before they blew overboard. They laughed as he poured the wine. Soon all was ready, and they each took a chair at the small makeshift table across from each other. The air was fresh and breezy, the sea was calm, and the sun was lowering into a dusky sky.

Sliding back into her chair, she angled it so she could see his face and the glorious sunset behind him. The night was becoming as wildly exotic as a bird-of-paradise flower. The vibrant oranges, magenta, purples, and gold filled the sky as the sun slowly lowered. Balmy breezes swirled softly against her bare arms and legs. Harper tasted the sweet chill of the white wine on her lips and thought, This is heaven.

As they feasted on a bounty of cold local shrimp and crab, seasoned artichoke hearts, heirloom tomatoes with basil, and crusty French bread and cheese, the flavor of salt hung in the air. Taylor lit hurricane lamps that flickered in the twilight like early stars. Harper swirled the wine in her glass and recollected how she’d been on luxury yachts many times in her young life, gone on cruises with her mother across the globe where gourmet meals and expensive wines were lavishly served. Yet sitting on the deck of the Miss Jenny with no one else on board but her and Taylor, the great green nets swinging in tempo with the rocking boat, the vibrant sun lowering in unparalleled grandeur across an infinite horizon where sea met sky, she couldn’t remember ever experiencing a more perfect evening on the water.

She glanced at Taylor and saw that he was watching the sky as well. In the dusk, backlit by the magenta sky, his silhouette was etched in her mind—her memory.

“This is,” she said softly, “the most romantic dinner date I’ve ever been on.”

“That’s good news.” Taylor grabbed the bottle. “More wine?”

“Love some.” He filled her glass, then set the bottle down and reached over to the cooler to grab a bottle of water for himself.

“You aren’t drinking?”

“I’m driving.” He nodded toward the wheelhouse.

“Ah, of course.”

“But generally, I don’t drink much anymore. Sure I have a drink now and then. But not much. Anymore, that is.”

“Did you used to drink a lot?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“What changed?”

Taylor paused to consider. “PTSD and drinking are a bad combination.”

In the flickering light of candles she could see his face set in somber thought and felt him closing himself off.

“Nature is the great healer. Surely all this”—her arm swept out indicating the view—“must be a salve on your wounds.”

Taylor stared out at the landscape, and she knew him well enough by now to know he was working something out in his head. She gave him a wide berth to do so, staying silent and staring out at the water until Taylor began to speak.

“When I return home, this place and all its history swallows me. This geography lives in my soul. My ancestors came here by the sea. My family’s survival depended on the bounty of the ocean, the wetlands, and these winding creeks. Our stories, myths, food, culture . . .” He paused. “It’s all here. I don’t know if it’s because of our history that we have this love affair with the land and waters that surround us, or if it’s just part of our DNA. Either way, this water is our mother’s milk. Our history races in our blood with salt water. It’s what makes us who we are. It also binds us. I feel a responsibility not only to my family, but to this boat, these waters. This place. I don’t know if we can separate one from the other.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No. Yes.” He shook his head. “It makes it difficult to stay and impossible to leave.”

As Harper listened to the stirring timbre in his voice and watched his eyes, the same gray-green color of the sea he loved, she was transfixed. “I understand your love of history and your feeling bound to it. I grew up schooled in the illustrious history of the James family in England. I can name each of the dozens of stiff-faced ancestors in portraits that line the halls of Greenfields Park.”

“It must give you a strong sense of belonging.”

“Obligation.”

“That’s not the same thing, is it?”

She shook her head. “You know what I think?”

Taylor shook his head.

“I think you have a hard time leaving this place because in your heart you know this is your home.”

Taylor didn’t respond but his green eyes flickered.

“I long for a home. Growing up, I was moved from house to house but never felt I belonged in any of them. I always felt like a visitor.” She shivered. “I can’t recall even once when my mother wrapped me in her arms to hug me when I returned home from school. Or comforted me in my bed when I cried.”